


Sparring Practice

by saltandbyrne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, M/M, Sibling Incest, Underage Character, Weecest, Weechesters, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-15
Updated: 2012-07-15
Packaged: 2017-11-10 00:36:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/460292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandbyrne/pseuds/saltandbyrne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Innocent Sammy is not innocent, needy Dean is needy, and John is in denial.   Written for my beloved internet wifey verucasalt123.  Sam is 15.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparring Practice

Dean's on him the second the door closes, callus on his thumb snagging in the hem of Sam's sweatshirt as he pulls it over his head.

Sam knows he shouldn't like these days as much as he does, the days when Dad acts like a jerk to Dean and gets on his case about stupid bullshit, shouldn't love how Dean gets so desperate for him, pours all of himself into this burning need to get Sam off as many times as he can.

But Sam's 15, his life is basically an endless boner, and no one who's seen Dean's mouth  _ever_  could really blame him for getting a little thick every time Dad tells Dean he didn't clean a gun correctly, not when it usually leads to  _this_ , Dean pressing him against a wall like he could hold him there with his mouth alone, big hands taking in every inch of his chest as he leans in.

Dean's weight against him always makes his dick twitch, hard muscle crowding him in, flexing as Dean tosses his jacket aside and undoes his flannel, mouth never leaving Sam's as he gets the buttons undone, shucks it off and then Sam can feel the warmth of him through their t-shirts, christ, why do they wear so many fucking  _shirts_ , Dean's mouth on his neck hot and wet as he rolls Sam's shirt up his chest, skin under his jaw still tingling when Dean pulls his mouth off and strips those evil, stupid t-shirts off the both of them, Dean's broad chest pressed against his, hot breath in Sam's ear as Dean rolls his hips forward and lets Sam feel just how desperate for it he is, hard cock pressing up against Sam's as Dean licks up his ear, “Gonna take care of you, Sammy.”

Dean slides his hand down Sam's stomach, Sam shivering under it as Dean reaches down to palm Sam's cock through his jeans, grinds the heel of his hand into it as Sam whimpers a little, tiny nip at his earlobe making him arch up into Dean's hand as he whispers, “Got myself off in the bathroom of the diner thinking about sucking your cock, Sammy,” fucking  _christ_ , Dean better do it quick or he'll just be licking the come off of Sam's boxers again.

Dean sucks Sam's bottom lip into his mouth as he undoes his belt buckle, pulls it out with a soft whoosh of leather and chucks it aside, kneads Sam's lip in his teeth just hard enough to make Sam shake like a crappy washing machine as Dean undoes his button-fly, one sharp tug down and Sam's cock is happy to tell his boxers to go fuck themselves, straining to get out as Dean licks into his mouth, wet and dirty promise of what he'll be doing soon, Sam thumping his head back against the wall as Dean grips his fingers into the waist of his jeans and boxers and sinks down, on his knees in one fluid motion as he pulls Sam's pants around his ankles, Sam's cock slapping free against his stomach loud as a shot.

Dean starts slow, snakes his tongue out to flick it through the shiny smear of precome at the tip, swirls it around the crown and under to that little spot that makes Sam's hips jerk, Dean's fingers digging into his thighs as he rolls his tongue along the underside of Sam's cock. “Fuck, Dean, jesus,” Dean closing his lips around the head and sucking lightly, Sam's eyes rolling back as he feels another spurt of precome roll onto Dean's tongue, “Dean, please, c'mon,” Dean hollowing his cheeks out and sucking as he pushes down and takes Sam's cock all the way to the base, wet rolls of his tongue making Sam moan out for it like their Dad's not in the next room.

Dean bobs his head up and down, first one slow and slick, wet sucking noises coming out Dean's mouth getting louder as he works up to a faster pace, arching his neck to take Sam all the way down his throat, tight clench of it around the head of Sam's cock like a little slice of heaven each time it hits the back, christ, that fucking noise that Dean makes when he swallows against it like a jolt of electricity down Sam's spine, wet tickle of Dean's spit running down Sam's balls as he gags a little.

Dean always does it like that on days like this, outdoing himself to deep-throat Sam like a fucking porn star until he has reflexive tears in the corner of his eyes and Sam feels like he's gonna come so hard it backs up into his fucking eyeballs and leaves him snow-blind as he runs his hands through the soft spikes of Dean's hair and bites his fist to keep from screaming his head off as he bucks his hips forward and shoots his load down Dean's throat, older brother digging his hands into Sam's thighs to pull him in and swallow as Sam hits his head against the wall and sees stars.

Sam's off the wall before he really knows what's happening, pants still tangled around his ankles as Dean tugs him forward, hand gripping his ass as Dean drags him toward the bed, “Gonna make you feel so good, Sammy,” Sam still fuzzy around the edges as he hits his legs against the side of the bed, Dean easily pushing him over until he's bent over the bed with his ass in the air, rough hand on either side of his ass as Dean spreads him open, hot breath tickling against his …

Oh. Shit.

Dean jumps like he's been electrocuted, scrambling over the side of the bed away from the door, frozen on his knees because he can't stand up without knocking something over with the woody he's currently sporting.

Sam's always been a quick thinker, though, and he's got his pants back up in no time, face right at the door as Dad turns the key and looks in.

“You boys ok? I thought I heard... something.”

“Dad, thank god you're here.”

Sam smiles and rolls his eyes, amps up the puppy dog face to levels that would sicken men more sober than their father.

John scans the room, takes in the sight of Dean kneeling by the bed, shirtless and flushed, freckles standing out against the red of his face, redder lips bruised and plump, eyes wide as he stares back, then turns back to Sam, also shirtless, chest heaving up and down as he smiles like an angel.

“Can you please tell Dean that we don't need to do any more sparring practice today? I'm tired.”

Sam pouts a little as their Dad nods his head a few times, muttering “sparring practice” under his breath before he looks at Dean.

“Dean, let your brother get some sleep. We're leaving at six.”

Dean manages to choke out a, “Yes, sir,” as Sam beams at him.

John nods his head a few more times before he closes the door and retreats down the hallway.

Sam turns back to Dean, innocence completely gone as he stalks over to his older brother and pushes him down on the floor, straddling him and circling his hips over the bulge in Dean's pants.

“You heard what Dad said, Dean,” Sam leans in, grinding himself into Dean's cock as he licks up his ear, “we've only got until six.”

 


End file.
